another bleak day
what autumn color there was
has returned to brown
(December 2, 2025)
Category: fall
-
storms rage without rain
like shrouds across the dry earth
trees drop their dead leaves
each night grows longer
one more minute of light less—
incremental death
i’m tired of trying—
too cynical to pretend
darkness has not come
it is ironic
with the weight of centuries
nothing can be done
the sycamore’s branches fallI fear spring will not return
(October 21, 2025)
-
earth turns towards the sun
trees abandon their crisp leaves
the kidney wood blooms
the heat in texashangs heavily in the air
summer will not leave
lizards sprint sprightlyacross the back patio
no rain for weeks now
they warn it will endeven now summer lingers
like a slow sickness
everything unfolds slowlywe are here then we are not
(September 22, 2025)
-
I want to believe
magic exists,
that somewhere
the clicks and clacks
of reason drift
free of determined
divination to finally
fall away like leaves.
I want to believesome small gods
dance in scattered copse
and sing such songs
that might save us
from our future fall.
(July 9, 2025)
-
On a sunny day in mid-November
in a newly gentrified part of Austin,
the restaurant is full of the young and educated
who chat at tables beneath the large oaks.
Waitresses bring armfuls of food and drink,
then easily sweep away the empty trays
in an all consuming dance of plenty.
Conversation at our table stays light
with talk of work and dogs and nothing,
nothing at all, of the coming darkness.
(November 10, 2024)
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Morning After
by
anxiety, autumn, change, cycle, despair, existential angst, fall, hope, meditation, poetry, politics, sonnets, transition, worry
The sky hangs low and grey; the first
true cool spell since early last spring
thundered through a few nights ago.
The election is over, and the beast
has returned once again to power,
a bitter creature bent on revenge.
Today, I must finish cleaning up
the house after last night’s party,
which broke up early and dissolute.
It is difficult to be hopeful as fall
deepens toward the winter solstice
even with its celestial cliches:
as darkness grows, the light remains;
a millstone slowly grinds all to dust.
(November 7, 2024)
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